Throttle (Jack 'Em Up #3) Page 4

  Trace’s eyes lifted and found mine, their hazel depths heavy with concern, as the paper dangled from his hand. “I’m . . . I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry. I’ll talk to him.”

  Angela collected the papers left on the table and closed them back into the folder. “Don’t be sorry, Mr. Berringer. We’re not upset with him. We simply want to come together to help him.”

  He peered back down at the paper in his hand, a furrow forming between his brows. He smacked it down on the tabletop. “What do you suggest?”

  Everyone at the table took turns, gently offering solutions: time at night dedicated to letting Ryder talk about his day, encouraging what he was good at, like drawing or sports, making an appointment with his pediatrician for evaluation.

  Trace balked at Everett’s suggestion. “My kid does not need medication, if that’s what you’re suggesting.” Before Everett could respond, Trace’s gaze swung to mine. “What about you? You’re the counselor, right? What do you think?”

  As attracted to him as I’d been since I first laid eyes on him, seeing him this concerned about his child stirred something deep within me. More than lust or admiration, it felt like getting back a piece of the faith I’d lost. I swallowed and focused. “I think all of those ideas have credence, but you should do what you feel comfortable with. Also, with your permission, I’d like to meet with Ryder once a week to check on him. Nothing formal, but it will give me a chance to evaluate if he’s got any deeper issues we need to deal with immediately.”

  After several long moments, he finally nodded. “Okay. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  We concluded the meeting and everyone stood. Everett slipped out with a murmured apology, Principal Rye thanked Trace again, and Angela shook his hand before getting back to class. We faced each other last and I lifted my hand. “It’ll be okay, Trace,” I promised, not sure why I was saying something so stupidly naïve. Nobody knew what the true issue was, or that it would be all right. But the pain and emotion deep in those mossy eyes had my heart longing to comfort his.

  He nodded once and I watched him walk away, leaving me alone in the conference room. I took a deep breath to settle myself, my eyes falling to the paper he’d left behind from Angela’s stack. I plopped down in his vacated chair and picked it up.

  “My Family” was the title, with instructions to name their family members and draw a picture of them. In the first space, in the wobbly, block letters of a child, Ryder had written ‘daddy’ then crossed it out and written ‘trace’ with a crayon drawing of a smiling stick figure with a car.

  Next, was obviously a self-portrait, his stick figure complete with a smile and a football.

  My heart sunk as I moved on to the last spot. A big red X filled the square, below that, ‘I got no mommy.’

  “Oh, God.”

  Poor, poor baby.

  I drove home at the end of the day, the muggy air surrounding me like a damp envelope, Betsy’s AC unable to keep up. Beads of sweat rolled down my chest between my breasts and I felt wet all over by the time I got to my apartment.

  I ran inside, cranked the air down to arctic, stripped down to my bra and panties, then raided the fridge. Yes, in that order.

  I mowed my way through an apple and two pieces of cheese before I was cooled off. I stripped all the way and hopped into a shower, contemplating my evening. TV dinner? A Hallmark movie? Read?

  As I heated up a Lean Cuisine, I settled in to read one of my psychiatric journals and realized that during all of that . . . my entire day, my rush home, everything . . . Trace and Ryder had been glued to my subconscious. This new facet of Trace had me intrigued and a little sad for them both. I knew the plight of the single parent well. My sisters and I barely remembered our father. He took off when Hope was just a baby, after their mid-life “surprise” was diagnosed with Down syndrome. A “special” child was simply not what he’d signed up for. Kendall was eleven, but I was only nine, and my memories of him were spotty. Sitting on his lap at a park while he showed me a ladybug perched on his finger. A doll he gave me for Christmas. Kid stuff. But, still, I was thankful for each one. They were all I had.

  My phone rang, scattering my thoughts. I glanced at the caller ID. “Hi, Mom.”

  “Hey, Tori. How are you?”

  “I’m good. First week of school’s been keeping me busy.”

  She coughed, but it was muffled as if she’d covered the mouthpiece with her hand. “Sorry. Damn cough’s been hanging around for weeks. Nothing I’ve taken has helped. I hate allergies.”

  I cringed when she coughed again. “Sorry to hear that, Mom. How’s Hope?”

  “Oh, you know. Good. She’s excited about graduating this year.”

  I heard the uncertainty in her voice. We’d all wondered if this day would come. What would Hope’s ultimate cognitive ability be? Could she finish school? Well, she would. Now I knew the thought of what was next, what would happen over the next years, weighed on my mom.

  “Aw, how exciting. Give her a kiss for me.”

  “Yeah . . .” She stifled another cough, her breath coming through the line loudly. “I will.”

  I glanced down to my lap, struggling with how to make conversation. “And work? How’s that going?”

  My mother may not have been the most attentive mom during our childhood, never the PTA mom for sure, but she did work hard to provide for us. I suppose Dad leaving forced her into that role of two parents. Sometimes, though, I resented losing my mom to the toils of that existence. What kind of life would we have had if my father had stayed? Why couldn’t he just love us, love Hope, enough to at least try? Yes, it was hard, but my baby sister was one of the sweetest, gentlest, most genuine people on the planet. She was the singular reason I’d decided to help children as a career; to help families struggling to cope, much like we had. She might be considered weak by the rest of society, less than, but she was the strongest person I knew. It was an honor to be her sister.

  My mother cleared her throat. “Ah, it’s work. I think they might promote me to housekeeping manager soon though. Gloria retired and I put in for the position. I’ve been at the hospital longer than anyone else and I know all the departments, so I think my chances are good.”

  “That’s great, Mom.”

  We chatted a while longer, forcing lightness into our voices, trying to overcome a lifetime of knowing each other only in passing. But she was making an effort and I appreciated it. I rose when the timer dinged for my dinner.

  “Well, baby, I’ll let you go eat your supper. I think I’ll call Kendall and see what’s up in Hollywood.”

  “Okay. Bye, Mom.”

  “Love you, baby. Talk to you later.”

  “Love you, too.”

  We hung up and I toyed with my lackluster dinner, grasping for a feeling of closeness to my mother. It flickered in my heart as I recalled her voice when talking about her promotion. She sounded happy. Content. I wanted that for both of us. It struck me then, on a newer, deeper level, that families were strange business. There wasn’t much black and white. Instead, a million shades of gray colored every interaction, every emotion, each memory. I’d seen enough to know there was no such thing as perfection, but that hadn’t stopped me from searching for it. From dreaming about it.

  But the horrible truth about dreams? You always wake up.

  Trace

  I was at a loss.

  My son was obviously lost, suffering. That much was clear after my meeting at the school that afternoon. Being a child, he wasn’t able to put his confusion into words, but it was clear as day to me when I spied that big red X where Kristi’s picture should’ve been.

  I got no mommy . . .

  No. He didn’t. And the worst, most crushing part of that was there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.

  Buckling in defeat, I picked up the phone as Ry played quietly in his room, and headed to the kitchen. I needed to be man enough to admit I needed help. Now.

  My sis
ter answered on the third ring. “Hey there!”

  “Hi, Brandi. How’re things? You busy?”

  “I’m not too busy for my baby brother. What’s up?”

  I squeezed my eyes shut. “It’s Ry.”

  “What’s wrong?” Concern laced her voice.

  Sinking into a kitchen chair, I scoped out the hallway to make sure he was still out of earshot. “He . . . we’re having a hard time. I got called in to the school today after he pushed a kid down at recess.”

  “They called you in over that?”

  “Not just that. It’s only the first week of school and he’s already acting out, being disruptive, and not doing his work. Now he’s hurting other kids. Everyone’s concerned. Hell, I’m concerned. I’d wondered when Kristi’s absence would start to affect him, but I guess I was hoping we’d skip the drama or I’d at least have more time.”

  “Oh, Trace. I’m sorry. What can I do?”

  “Wave a magic wand and make this bullshit go away.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, fighting the burning behind my eyelids.

  “Do you need me to come? Stay for a while or something?”

  “What? No. You’ve got your own family to take care of. I guess I just needed a friendly voice. Maybe some advice. You’re a great mom. What should I do to help him?”

  Brandi’s heartfelt sigh carried heavily over the line. She was a fantastic mother to my two nephews. Of course, she’d learned from the best, and if my parents weren’t vacationing in Europe all summer, I would’ve called our mom first. My two brothers were great, but would be useless in this situation, being single with no experience with children other than giving our kids noisy toys and too much sugar.

  “Well, what did they say when you went to the school?”

  Tori’s mysterious gray eyes flashed to mind. She was as shocked to see me as I was her. “They, uh, they suggested creative outlets, talking to him, and the counselor is going to start meeting with him to make sure it’s not something serious.” God, I hoped it was only the confusion of a little boy realizing he was one of the few with no mommy and not a true psychological problem. I had no idea how I’d deal with that.

  “Those sound like great places to start.”

  “I guess.” I drew in a ragged breath, trying to focus on the positive. People cared about my son and were trying to help him. That was a beginning. “What would you do?”

  “Oh, Trace, I’m no expert—”

  “But you’re one of the best mothers I know. I trust your instincts. What would you do if you were me?”

  I felt her struggle with her words. “I’d do everything they say. I’d keep up with his counselor to monitor his progress regularly. I’d find a way to be involved with activities at school, not just extracurricular stuff.”

  “Wait. What do you mean? How do you do that?”

  Brandi giggled. “Ask his teacher. They always need help so I’m sure she’ll have plenty of ideas.”

  I frowned. Help at school? What did that mean? Then, I thought back to when our mom brought cupcakes to class for our birthdays and helped sew costumes for the musical programs. No way in hell could I do those things.

  Could I?

  No.

  I was a mechanic. I got greasy for a living. Delicate things were way out of my league. But, as I hung up with my sister, I realized that my son’s heart was the most delicate and precious thing in my life, and if I had to embrace my inner mom to help him thrive, I’d find a way to do just that.

  In a perfect coincidence, Ry came rolling into the kitchen on his hands and knees, a toy motorcycle in his hands as he drove it on the tile, surprisingly realistic motor noises coming from his little mouth.

  “Hey, Buddy.” I moved from my seat to crouch next to him. “Whatcha doin?”

  His dark eyes met mine. “Playin’ with the motorcycle Uncle Jesse gave me. Wanna play?”

  Jesse and his motorcycles. Why couldn’t he have given my kid a nice classic like a ‘Vette or even a Porsche? I plopped down to my bottom. “Sure. But what will I drive?”

  “Hold on!” Ryder jumped up, leaving his Harley forgotten on the kitchen floor as he bounded to his room. He returned a few seconds later with a Hot Wheels Lotus and offered it to me before sitting beside me, our knees bumping.

  I rolled the red sports car as we raced and I delighted in the simple joy in Ryder’s eyes. His life should always be this simple. Playing. Learning. Getting dirty. Being loved. It killed me that he was lacking in anything.

  “Ry?”

  “Yeah?” He kept his eyes trained on his bike as it made wide circles around my car.

  “What happened at school today?”

  “Nothin’.”

  I grabbed his hand to stop the motion of the motorcycle. “The principal called me in to talk about you pushing someone on the playground. Wanna tell me about that?”

  Frowning brown eyes lifted to mine. “Jayden called me stupid. He said nobody likes me cuz I’m stupid and don’t have no mommy.”

  I swallowed the pain that balled up in my throat like molten lead. “So you pushed him? Ryder . . .”

  He shrugged and turned his attention back to our toys. “I told him to shut up. He wouldn’t. I’m not stupid.”

  “No, Buddy, of course you’re not.” I paused, waiting for him to look at me. “But you can’t go pushing people because they say ugly things. What have I told you about that kind of thing?”

  His gaze darted away, guilt filling his face. “No hitting girls . . .”

  “And?”

  He skated his eyes my way then back to the floor. “No bullying.”

  “And?”

  “No starting fights, but I can finish ‘em.” He dropped his motorcycle and stood, his stormy gaze locked on me in anger now. “That’s what I did today, Daddy. I finished it.”

  “Did Jayden hit you or push you first? Did he do anything besides talk trash?”

  “No, but—”

  “No buts, Ry. Talking isn’t starting a fight. Pushing is. He didn’t start it, Son. You did.”

  His little cheeks flushed and fat tears bubbled up in his eyes that he refused to let fall.

  With a sigh, I patted the ground next to me. “Come on, Buddy. Let’s finish our game.”

  He met my eyes in silent question.

  “You’re a good boy, Ryder, and I’m very proud of you. You made a mistake. Just don’t let it happen again, okay?”

  I watched as he thought this through. Finally, he sat and grabbed up his bike. “’Kay. Sorry, Daddy.”

  I ruffled his hair and we got back to our race.

  As I worked like a dog at the shop the rest of the week and into the next, I realized the school lost no time in working with my son. He came home after his first meeting with Tori, full of smiles and it only seemed to grow from there.

  Miss Waters is super nice.

  Miss Waters gave me some M&Ms.

  I love Miss Waters, she’s funny.

  Guess what Miss Waters has in her office? Hot Wheels!

  Every time he brought her up, I remembered her ass in those Juicy sweatpants and I found myself jealous of my kid. Inappropriate? Maybe. But a beautiful woman was a beautiful woman, and in fairness, I’d been fantasizing about her since the first time I saw her at the Funky Monkey.

  Ryder hadn’t gotten in any more trouble or fights, but his grades were still iffy. His last batch of homework showed a few unfinished assignments, a pamphlet about the annual cookie dough sale, and a PTO membership form.

  I’d spent more time playing with him, making him shut off the TV to read with me every night. I let him talk about whatever was on his little mind, but I didn’t have the strength to bring up his comment about having no mommy. He said it so matter-of-factly that it broke my heart. Obviously, it bothered him, but how badly?

  Saturday morning, I made him his favorite chocolate chip pancakes. I sat across from him and watched him dig in, his little legs swinging under the table, bumping my shins. It was these kinds of quiet
mornings that I was eternally grateful for. Yes, Kristi and I had been a big, hairy mistake, and she’d done the unthinkable, but he was the greatest gift of my life. I could not fathom a world without him now.

  On impulse, I dropped my fork. “Wanna go to the beach today?”

  “Really?” His dark eyes lit with excitement.

  “Yeah. Really. Let’s go, just you and me. We can swim and have a picnic then come home and get a pizza or something. Whatcha think?”

  I worried his little body might burst with happiness. “Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and fruit snacks?”

  “For our picnic?”

  He nodded.

  “Sure. Sounds good.”

  He shoveled in a few more bites then jumped up to change into his swim trunks. I cleaned up the kitchen quickly, wondering why I didn’t do this kind of thing more often.

  I threw together our lunch and a bag of beach toys, sunscreen and towels, then we loaded up the car with our stuff. “Ready, Buddy?”

  He hopped into the car. “Ready!”

  “Well, okay, then.”

  I locked up the condo and we headed out. Just a couple dudes going to the beach.

  When we got there, we set out our towels and got busy riding the waves on our boogie boards. His laughter was medicine to my soul. Maybe he’d be all right, after all. He wouldn’t be so carefree if he was deeply troubled, right?

  Running back to our cooler for some Capri Suns, he stopped in his tracks to pet a black lab on a leash. The dog’s owner, an attractive brunette in a neon pink bikini, smiled at me sweetly. I smiled back, my hand on Ry’s shoulder. She was clearly sending out signals with her eyes, but I just wasn’t feeling it. I hadn’t felt it in a long time. That was until a certain girl in an Aerosmith T-shirt had jumpstarted my libido with her shy smile.

  Bikini cutie eventually moved on and Ryder and I plopped onto our towels and slugged down our drinks. I studied his profile as he squinted out toward the water and wondered what he was thinking about. Good things, I hoped.

  “Race ya back out there,” I said, jumping to my feet and running. I knew he’d be right on my heels, fast little squirt.